


His To Admire

by aspiringwriterofamazingstories



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Roanoke
Genre: Admiration, Death, Infatuation, Objectification, Obsession, Other, Unhealthy - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-28 06:49:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8435701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aspiringwriterofamazingstories/pseuds/aspiringwriterofamazingstories
Summary: Imagine Edward seeing you shortly after moving into the house in Roanoke and feeling conflicted, because while he would rather be alone, you bear an uncanny resemblance to someone in one of his favorite paintings. I tried to keep the reader's gender ambiguous, because I realize that it's not just women who read these things. :)





	

**Author's Note:**

> As of right now, I do not plan to make this into a full length fic. This is just a little imagine scribble I wrote for my tumblr followers (newmooney.tumblr.com) after falling in love with Edward Mott's character.

Many a man and many a woman hand entered the home looking to settle in. Looking to get away from it all, as they said, and all fell victim to the butcher.

To say Edward had long grown tired of a new resident being added to the population of ghosts in the area would be an understatement. All he had ever wanted was to be left alone with his art and away from the presence of people, and since the night his art had been brutally destroyed and since the night of his murder, the only comfort Edward received was the solitude offered to him by the tunnels below the house.

When he overheard the commotion of you moving in and movers carrying your things, dropping things, and stompting about above him, he felt no different than all the other times intruders made his home their own–for as long as it lasted. He had no desire to get a glimpse of the new arrival, but after a few nights, something strange began to happen. It was almost as if something had awoken inside of him. Curiosity? He couldn’t be sure, but he knew the irksome feeling needed to be sated before it left him be.

Reluctantly, he traveled to the basement, and upon entering, he was greeted by something much surprising and certainly welcome.

Paintings. Beautiful paintings. Ones he had never laid eyes upon before. They were very much recently finished, that much he could tell. They offered a glimpse of the modern world. Beautiful people. Ageless people in the company of contraptions not of his time. Utilizing vehicles without horses. All of the canvases were propped up against the old furniture with care. He could still smell the acrylics used to create them, so he approached them slowly. His hands hovered over them as he took a closer examination, careful not to touch and destroy the hard work that had been done.

The sound of footsteps traveling down the steps was nearly enough to startle out of his infatuated state and he swiftly faded from the intruder’s view, though he remained in the area. He wished to see the artist responsible for creating the masterpieces. What he saw, however, was enough to take him aback.

Your paint stained overalls and your hair tied back in a mess on your head was not enough to take away from your beauty. You were more than beautiful to him. In fact, you were the living breathing embodiment of one of his most prized works of art. His brow furrowed as he watched you travel down holding a smaller canvas under one of your arms. This was impossible, but there you were.

His mind raced as he watched you set things up and begin to paint. What was he to do? You were certainly more worthy of living than the others. Your beauty had earned you that privilege.

…but if you were to live. If you were to escape. That would mean he could never have you. He could never lay eyes upon you again. Not to mention, your ability to live and escape would also mean you would one day age. Wither away and die. That would be far from desirable.

He studied you for a bit longer before finally deciding to leave you with your work. The idea of you leaving his presence forever and living long enough for your beauty to fade was too much, so he concluded it was best to leave you be. Wait things out. Wait for the butcher to do her work. He’d find you once she did, and then you’d be his to admire forever.


End file.
